


Margaritas ante Porcos

by orphan_account



Category: Original Work
Genre: 18th Century, Eventual Romance, F/M, Geniuses, M/M, Orphans, Rebellion, Time Travel
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-03-14
Updated: 2015-03-14
Packaged: 2018-03-17 20:43:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,197
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3543146
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Gunner tries his best to raise his genius younger sister, he really does. But a nineteen year old gang member who never spent a full day in high school and dropped out of university doesn't really have much going for him. </p>
<p>After a hard day, said gang member thinks he's ready to go full on dark side and forget trying to get legal money. That is, until the bizarre tattoo he woke up with starts driving him crazy and suddenly transports him and his younger sister back in time. After discerning that it may not be a simple bad acid trip, Gunner and Ellie have to figure out what the hell is going on. How did they end up in the 18th century? Why did it seem like fate dropped them right at the front door of Ellie's namesake? And, most importantly, what will happen to the future if Ellie and Gunner try to change the past?</p>
<p>In a world where nothing is as it seems, siblings will have to work together with ladies and lords to figure out the true reason they've been sent back, all the while trying to choose a side in a city being torn apart by political infighting and mysterious deaths.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Margaritas ante Porcos

                                                    

_I didn't know how to dress her. I didn't know what to feed her. I didn't know how the whole education system shit worked. But I did the best I could, and I reckon she may just turn out alright._

**ღ*~*ღ*~*ღ**

 

“My dear, after all of this time, the words that spring to my lips bring me great joy and anticipation, and I do hope you’ll agree about the joy.”

“My, darling, whatever could it be?”

“I… well… I suppose I’ll just come right out with it, then! Eleanor Elizabeth Blythe, would you do me the great honour of becoming Mrs. Samuel Caulfield?”

“Oh… I… Oh, darling, of course! Yes, yes! I’ll marry you, yes!”

Large hands caught small gloved ones and the two embraced, Samuel planting a chaste kiss on the petite forehead of Eleanor. His smile was grand as he turned to his dinner guests, who began clapping vigorously and nodding as if this was something long expected.

“Ladies and gentlemen, I present my fiancée, Ms. Eleanor Blythe!”

**ღ*~*ღ*~*ღ**

The class all clapped attentively as the dusty old professor switched on the lights and turned off the movie with a slow, purposeful click to the projector. He turned back to the class and squinted through half-moon shaped glasses, small watery eyes running over the youthful, perky faces. When he spoke, his voice was scratchy and hoarse, and it sounded every bit as dull and boring as the man himself.

“That’s the story of how Eleanor Blythe became Eleanor Caulfield, a model young lady whose academy for gifted orphans changed many lives. As many of you know, back then there were many orphans, as there was much political infighting that saw many politicians poisoned or otherwise mysteriously killed. Their children were also threatened, but Mrs. Caulfield wouldn’t hear of such innocent lives being taken, so she gave them a home away from the politics. Many of those orphans grew into important people who we know today as being great figures in history.”

There was a rusty cough, a rattle that shook the old man’s body and lungs as he pressed his fist into his mouth, waving a hand as if to say ‘it’s okay, I’m alright.’ Not that any of the students actually cared; they were all such liars, smiling in fake pity while they fiddled with phones under their desks.

Augustus ‘Gunner’ Atkinson sat at the very back of the Oxford English class, his feet resting on his own piece of desk in front of him, one leg crossed languidly over the other as he listened. He was lying too, but it wasn’t about pity for the professor or a mild interest. He was truly interested in the class, but he gave off an air of boredom. Reputation to keep and such.

“Hey Augustus, what did you think of the movie?”

One of the slick, put-together kids who sat near him leaned over and whispered, a cruel amusement glittering in his eyes. He was one of those rich kids who thought they were better than everyone just because they had money and an entire bottle of gel in their hair. ‘Course, most of the kids in the classroom were like that, and they all enjoyed messing with Gunner because he most certainly wasn’t.

“Listen, bruv, calling me Augustus may seem funny but it isn’t. I don’t appreciate it, you get me? One more time and I’m afraid you might be seeing your intestines. Not a pretty sight, I imagine, so don’t make me do it.”

The kid laughed, high and nasally, just the kind of laugh that Gunner hated. The professor was saying something else and Gunner really wanted to listen, but the kid kept on talking.

“I’m not your ‘bruv.’ People like you don’t get to talk to me as if we’re even remotely close, sarcastic or not. Now, I asked you a question. You’d do well to answer it, _you_ get me _, Augustus_?”

Gunner yawned, stretching his arms high above his head so that the sleeves of his baggy sweater fell halfway down his arms, revealing an impressive tattoo that involved an hourglass, Latin words and intricately threaded designs that weaved around and through the words. He barely gave it a second glance; it wasn’t something he was proud of. He couldn’t remember getting it—must’ve been drunk or high… or both—and he had no idea what any of it meant. Thinking about it made his already sour mood sink even more.

“I can’t for the life of me remember your name, but that isn’t anything to worry about, seeing as how soon enough no one will be able to forget it.”

Gunner uncrossed his legs and stood slowly, but when his hand moved they were anything but slow as he pulled something from the pocket of his oversized jeans. The kid who’d been mocking him didn’t even have time to gasp out as Gunner pressed the tip of the knife into his throat, leaning forward and raising an eyebrow.

“It’s better this way, you know. Other option is I get my mates to come here and they deal with you. I’ll make it slightly less painful, I promise.”

The kid’s eyes were wide and he held his hands up, shaking his head frantically, his lips trembling. Gunner pressed the knife forward a little more until a ruby drop welled up and rolled down the cold steel. Other people were only just beginning to realize what was going on, and whispers rose to shouts as people leapt from their seats, backing away from the spectacle.

“What is it? What’s going on?”

The professor shuffled up the stairs, hacking and coughing, pushing through the throng of students who were pointing and muttering about letting trash into the university. After the initial shock, everyone had realized it was Gunner and they’d calmed down. He made scenes all the time, and though he’d never pulled out a knife before, they somehow weren’t surprised. He had a temper like nobody’s business and brute force was his favourite way to take it out on someone.

“Mr. Atkinson! My word, put the knife down!”

Gunner’s eyes flickered to the side, noting the professor but still not listening. He pressed the knife even closer and the kid whimpered, tears welling up in his eyes. For all his big talk, he was just a coward after all. Gunner leaned forward to whisper into the kid’s ear, enjoying the terror directed at him.

“I don’t think Daddy will be able to get you out of this one, bruv.”

There, that was it. He’d totally broken the kid in, and now the kid’s starched, khaki pants held a steadily growing wet spot near his groin. Gunner snorted; the little bastard had pissed himself. These kids, for all their prim and proper daintiness, were too sheltered to deal with the way he lived. He was the only one in the class who wore baggy, comfy clothes and threw on a flat peaked cap so he didn’t have to brush his fluff of golden hair. He was the only one who lived in a dilapidated, crumbling apartment and traded drugs with his landlord. He was the only one who carried a knife to protect himself from members of other gangs when he walked to school.

“It’s alright, sir, I was only messing with him, see. Just a bit of boy’s rough and tough fun, ain’t that right?”

He withdrew the knife and grinned large as if nothing had happened. The kid let out a sob and his head dropped, while some of his fake, gelled friends came and patted him, offering him words of comfort about how he was so much better than a drug dealing maggot. Gunner was about to slip the knife back into his pants but the professor held out a hand sternly.

“Mr. Atkinson.”

Gunner looked down at the knife, hesitating. He hadn’t done anything to piss off other gangs lately, but you never knew when another gang would jump you for kicks. Not having it could get his head busted in, or worse.

“Sir, my neighborhood’s quite the tough area. If I don’t have my knife, I could get the living shit kicked out of me.”

“And if you do insist on carrying a knife through our hallways, you’ll get the Oxford student kicked out of you because we’ll be expelling you.”

Gunner’s jaw tightened and he looked away sulkily, placing his knife in the professor’s open palm. Much as he’d love to stop doing the whole education thing, he needed it to get himself a respectable job. He wasn’t sure what kind of job one could get with an English major, but getting one of them fancy pieces of paper seemed to be the highway to high paying job, so he figured English was as good as any. Plus, he’d seen they’d be learning about Eleanor Caulfield, and she was his favourite lady.

“Class dismissed! I’ll deal with Mr. Atkinson appropriately.”

There were disgusted murmurs about Gunner being the favourite student as people slunk out of the hall, the kid Gunner had threatened too scared to even shoot a baleful glare at Gunner. Well, he had every right to be. If he’d kept up, a bunch of Gunner’s mates from the Black Phoenix gang would end up at his house.

“Mr. Atkinson, I’ve told you time and time again, yet you never listen. How many times do I have to reiterate myself before you understand?”

“Re… what?”

“Reiterate. It means repeat. But never mind that, why must you always cause scenes?”

Gunner sniffed, reaching up to shift his hat as he looked away. He felt kind of guilty about it, but he was frustrated and he needed _something_ to take his anger out on.

“It’s just who I am, sir. Ain’t nothing I can do about it.”

The old man let out a sigh, reaching up to adjust his glasses and then gesturing for Gunner to take a seat. Gunner sat and the old man sat across from him, squinting as if gathering his thoughts. He let out one long, lung-rattling cough before he spoke.

“It’s not who you are, it’s who you choose to be.”

Gunner crossed his arms and leaned back with a smirk.

“That’s _The Iron Giant_ , innit?”

“ _Mr_. Atkinson, _will you listen to me_?”

Gunner shifted so he was leaning forward in his chair and raised an eyebrow, gesturing as if to say ‘go ahead then.’ The professor drew in a deep breath, shaking his head disapprovingly, sending the small patch of white on his head floating.

“Sorry sir. I recently watched that movie with Ellie, see, so it’s been on my mind.”

“Ellie… how’s the girl doing?”

Gunner’s smile, which had seemed amused and slightly sharp, suddenly grew gentle, his entire countenance turning from the usual slumped-over-drug-addict look to an almost… motherly attention. Gentle, with a touch of fierce protectiveness. It looked strange and completely out of place coupled with his thuggish look. He kicked the floor with his ratty pair of Air Jordan’s, a proud smile on his face.

“She’s doing real good, sir. Top of her class, just as smart as that Hawking fella I imagine. Talks big like Wilder did.”

The professor observed Gunner closely, his squinty eyes confused, then he shook his head.

“I don’t know how you do it. Is it hard for you? Raising the girl, juggling school, jobs… extracurricular activities?”

“Nah. I do it for her. With a brain like hers, I reckon she’s going to go on and do big things. Ways I see it, least I can do is help her out with that. Me, I’m not smart enough to amount to anything like her and Wilder. Once she’s done with some fancy school and out on her own, best I’m good for is getting into the good hard drugs. Snort ‘em, maybe sell ‘em, you know?”

The professor’s confusion turned into exasperation as he stood up and tried—rather unsuccessfully—to tower over the relaxed gang kid. Gunner looked at him with clear eyes, not a trace of bitterness or humour. He didn’t regret a thing he said; he knew he was born for that and only that. No point in making a huge fuss over destiny.

“Mr. Atkinson, we both know the only reason you’re in this university is because your older brother, Wilder, is an absolute genius known worldwide.”

“Yeah. Bruv’s a smart gent, coming up with them machines and all. Haven’t heard from him in ages, but that’s the way it is. Probably too busy for us.”

“…Hmph. Yes, yes, we all know how odd your brother can be. No one’s seen him in three years. But that isn’t the point I’d like to make. The point is, your older brother is brilliant and, judging from the way you talk about her, so is your younger sister. However, since you’ve been surrounded with prodigies your entire life, you think that’s what intelligence is. That’s much more than intelligence, Mr. Atkinson. Therefore, the way you judge smart and stupid is completely skewered. You are not stupid.”

“Sir, I don’t mean to be petroleum or anything, but you know I’m not really university material.”

“…It’s petulant, not petroleum. Quit trying to make yourself sound stupid.”

Gunner’s eyes rolled up thoughtfully and for a second the old professor thought he’d just realized something meaningful.

“Oh yeah… Ain’t petroleum some sort of gas?”

It was extremely hard to convince a young man who didn’t know how to tell the difference between petroleum and petulant that he was smart, but the professor had sworn he’d try his best. Much as he wanted to sink into a chair and bury his face in his hands.

“Anyway. Even if you barely know a single grammatical rule or a word with more than eight letters, the ideas that come from your mind are… unique. Insightful and, at times, I’d even go so far as to say brilliant. If you’d actually gone to school and learned how to write properly, you may be scoring in the nineties rather than the sixties.”

Gunner shrugged as if it were no big deal. He didn’t really care what his grades were like as long as he was passing. He honestly did work hard to pass, studied almost every other night and stayed up late clunking away on an old typewriter, but skipping most of his high school English classes certainly took a toll on everything he wrote.

“At the end of the day, sir, alls I need is that fancy paper. I just need a good job to support Ellie’s schooling.”

The professor looked almost guilty, his eyes dropping as he looked away with a pained look.

“About that… Mr. Atkinson, your ideas are good enough to possibly get you through this course, but they aren’t good enough for a real workplace job. The reason you get passing grades is because of your brother’s previous donations to this school.”

“I… what?”

“With this degree, the majority of jobs you can get involve writing, editing, or teaching. I’m afraid with what you’ve shown me in both attitude and writing skills, you won’t be able to get a single well-paying job from this.”

Gunner rolled the words around in his mind, then sat back and stared blankly at the ceiling. All of this, all this going to school thing and pipedream of getting legal money for Ellie… it was all hopeless? His anger and devastation must’ve been showing on his face, because the professor quickly leapt to reassure him.

“I’m sure it’ll be alright though. Wilder has enough money to pay for Ellie’s schooling, does he not? And you already have a good job, working on that construction site.”

“That’s real fucked up.”

Gunner stood up, shaking his head, the devastation fading so that all that was left was the anger. He slammed strong palms down on the table so hard the professor jumped, and for a second both of them wondered if he’d punch the professor in the face. But he drew in a deep breath, and instead spoke with a furious, red-hot tinge to his voice.

“I’ve been doing this Oxford thing for nearly three years now, and you’re telling me it’s all going to amount to nothing at all? What the fuck have I been working for then? Don’t say Wilder’s paying for Ellie—he was supposed to pay for us, but he up and disappeared one day and since then we haven’t seen a penny.”

“Surely you’re joking. You don’t make enough to pay for school, board, and food for you and Ellie with just…”

The professor trailed off, then his face darkened, thin lips drawing even thinner.

“We get by, not exactly through legal channels if you know what I mean. I don’t want to keep doing this shit, though. I want Ellie to live in a good neighbourhood with all those posh, fancy wankers. I want her to talk all pretty, have good manners, know all the things I don’t. I promised her, see. I told her ‘You know, Princess, you’re going to grow up to be just like Eleanor Caulfield.’ She looks up to her now, and we have some pictures on the wall. Eleanor’s a real and proper lady. I want Ellie to be a real and proper lady too. That’s who she’s named after, after all.”

The professor pressed his fingers to the bridge of his nose, shaking his head.

“I’m afraid that won’t be the case. I just want to tell you now, so you won’t get the wrong expectations.”

Gunner closed his eyes, looking as if he were calming down, then drew back his foot and kicked a chair so hard it knocked down all the rest of the chairs in the row. If he was of no use to Ellie, what was the point of everything he was doing? Well, there were always _other_ means. He preferred not to use them, but if he really couldn’t get by legally, he’d have to talk to the boss.

“Whatever then, sir. I’m out. These bloody nancy-boys can take their greasy haircuts and ass-riding khakis and stuff it up their—”

“Are you saying you’re dropping out? Mr. Atkinson, even though getting a job will be difficult, you’ve come a long way. If you keep this up, I’m sure you’ll have a solid foundation for literature in later life.”

“We’re done the Eleanor Caulfield section, so I don’t give a shit. I’m done hanging in a room where guys go to the barber to get an oil change instead of a haircut. You guys want me to pay for fuck all? Fuck you.”

“Mr. Atk… Augustus! Wait!”

Gunner didn’t even turn around as he held up a middle finger, pulling a cigarette from his pocket and lighting it even before he left the halls. What did it matter? He was done with university. Hadn’t really been much of a good run, anyhow. Whatever. It was time to talk to the boss; some way or another, he was going to provide for Ellie.

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry, the first chapter is a little slow because it's just introducing Gunner and setting things up. Gunner has an accent, obviously, not really sure what kind of accent though haha imagine what you like. There'll be romance later, probably way later, so for now you'll have to settle with the protective-older-brotherness that will be in every chapter. 
> 
> PS- I know this isn't what Oxford students are like, I was just poking fun at it because a friend goes there and they're reading this. XD


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